Flashbacks
by Aoitori
Summary: Anyone else love the Leverage flashback moments? This is a vaguely continuous series of events, set during the end of season one, that features more of those amusing and fascinating moments. In chapter two- Eliot's first impression of Nate. No pairings.
1. Fine

Disclaimer: I do not own Leverage, or any of the characters, places, or events contained therein. Which, frankly, is a very good thing.

"Flashbacks": One of my favorite elements of the Leverage series is the rather brilliant use of flashbacks. I intend for this to be a series of flashbacks—in this case, moments where our beloved characters recall how they first met one another (perhaps moving on to similarly intriguing fictional encounters that might be memorable). Of course, a proper Leverage-style flashback requires a situation that triggers it. I'm presently basing these flashbacks on imaginary 'deleted scenes' from _The First David Job_. This is partly arbitrary, and partly because I really like that episode.

Note: Curiously, I am the only Leverage fan in my acquaintance. In addition, I've never written Leverage fanfiction, though I've enjoyed reading more than my fair share of it. That being the case, I don't really know if this is the sort of writing that piques anyone's interest. I suppose that can be judged by reviews, yes? So if you'd like to read more, drop me a line. Dozo yoroshiku onegaishimasu!

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Flashback 1: "Fine"

"I'll come alone, I promise," came Sterling's snide voice. There was an unpleasant 'snap' followed by silence.

Nate made a sharp u-turn and increased speed as he homed in on his new destination.

"And where will that put us?" asked Sophie, eyes sharp and unreadable.

"The roof of my old office building," answered Nate through clenched teeth. Sophie put a comforting hand on his shoulder, which he completely ignored. He reached into his pocket for his cell phone and then hit one of the speed-dial buttons and switched to speaker-phone. A fleeting look of relief crossed his face when he heard the raspy voice of Eliot on the other end.

"Nate?"

"Coms out?" Nate asked first.

"Way ahead of you." The hitter's voice never quite betrayed pain, but he could not disguise the fact that he was having some trouble breathing.

Nate grimaced slightly. "Eliot, where are you?" He asked.

"Bathroom in the hangar. Gettin' cleaned up."

"Hm," Nate nodded, "And _how_ are you?"

Eliot grunted noncommittally. "I'm fine."

(Nate: Flashback)

"_Eliot Spencer," said a much younger Nathan Ford. "Put down the Monet." He had a gun trained on the back of the young retrieval specialist who had just staggered out of the back entrance of the warehouse, lugging the tall flat crate that contained the priceless work of art. _

_Spencer stopped, swaying on his feet, and slowly turned to face this latest in what appeared to have been a long string of obstacles._

_Nate's eyes widened. _

_The young man looked like he had just gone ten rounds with a grizzly. Blood-matted brown hair hung limply into angry blue eyes, one of which was swollen nearly shut. The arm not holding the painting was clutched tightly to the boy's chest, whether to stem the bleeding from the several wounds on his torso, or simply because the arm was broken and of limited use, Nate couldn't be sure. _

_The youth frowned at him furiously. "Ford," he rasped, "Insurance guy, right?" His gaze narrowed on the gun pointed at him and his glare became, if possible, even more hateful. Nate caught the shift, but didn't quite understand the significance. _

"_That's right," he said. "Now put down the painting, son, and back away. I don't want to have to use this." He gestured slightly with the gun. _

_Spencer seemed to be taking stock off his options, weighing his physical condition against the distance to be closed between him and this irritant. To Nate's relief, he gently lowered the crate to the ground and took several halting steps backward, free hand in the air in surrender. _

_Nate matched his pace, advancing until he had reached the box. "Alright, now just get out of here before the cops start sniffing around," he said, lowering the gun a little. _

_The young man raised a skeptical eyebrow while still managing to glower angrily. But he raised no objection and made to turn and leave. He had only taken a few steps before Nate saw one of his footfalls land at an odd angle and the young man swiftly fell to his knees with a hiss of pain._

_Nate took a hesitant step towards the boy, unsure of what to do. Did proximity make him responsible for aiding this person? It was a situation he had not encountered in his still-brief career. "Are you alright kid?" he hazarded, taking another step. _

"_Fine," Spencer choked out. "I'm fine." The youth appeared to make an attempt to rise, but then collapsed forward in a fit of coughs that produced an alarming amount of blood. _

_That was the last straw for Nate's conscience. He closed the distance between them with a few quick strides and reached to lay a hand on Spencer's shoulder…when the young man struck like lightning. _

_Nate stood no chance. In less than a second Nate's gun had been wrested from his grip and removed of its rounds. In perhaps a second and a half, Nate had taken the elbow of a broken arm hard in the gut, a fast upper cut to the jaw, and a sound pistol whipping down from the temple with his own weapon. At about two seconds he hit the ground—hard— his bullets and a pair of bloody boots suddenly the only things occupying his wavering field of vision. The boots moved, and with the last of his strength Nate rotated to look up at his unlikely vanquisher. _

_The youth limped over to the crate and hefted it again with audible effort, then proceeded along his previous course. As Eliot passed Nate's prone form he saw the insurance man's roving eyes settle on him, fighting a losing battle to retain consciousness. Eliot let out a low, mean chuckle as a wicked grin came across his features. "Toldja I was fine." _

(Back to the present)

Nate couldn't suppress a wry smile at the memory as Sophie said, "Eliot, you don't _sound_ fine. Were you injured fighting Sterling's men?"

Eliot only responded with a growl, not interested in explaining.

"Soph," interjected Nate, "let's take the man at his word, alright?"

Sophie found that quite unsatisfactory, and was about to object but Nate cut her off again. "Trust me," he gave her a knowing look and she frowned but kept quiet.

"So what's next, boss?" asked the retrieval specialist. "You want I should back you up when you meet Sterling?" he asked, "Or should I go after Hardison and Parker?"

"Well," said Nate with a pause, "Sterling's next play isn't going to involve force. At this stage it's time for demands, and I believe him when he says he wants to deliver them personally; that's his style. Yeah, Sophie and I should be safe." He took a moment to consider. "And I don't want you going after the other two until we know exactly what we're dealing with. We need to find out Sterling's play before we can play him."

Eliot grunted his confirmation.

"Tell you what; you know the number three safe-house?"

There was a long moment's pause; Eliot was thinking. "You mean that little dive with the—"

"Yeah, that's the one," said Nate. "Just make it there and take it easy 'till we contact you again."

There was another growl on the other end—apparently Eliot did not appreciate being told to take it easy. But the forthcoming objection was interrupted by a grunt of pain, a barely audible "Where to, mister?" and the sound of Eliot giving directions to someone.

Sophie and Nate looked at each other incredulously.

"Eliot…" Nate began.

"Are you in a _taxi?_" Sophie finished.

"What!" came Eliot's voice, even more annoyed than before. "Y'all seriously think I don't know better than to drive with a concussion?!"

The pair tried to begin an apology, but with a dismissive 'hmph' Eliot muttered, "Idiots!" and promptly hung up.

Sophie arched an eyebrow at Nate, who simply said, "Yeah, I think he'll be fine."


	2. Honest Man

Disclaimer: I do not own Leverage, or any of the characters, places, or events contained therein. Which, frankly, is a very good thing.

"Flashbacks": This flashback is also about Nate and Eliot's first meeting; this time--Eliot's perspective on Nate. This is actually what will be the third flashback in the series. Confusing? I know, bear with me. I wish for them to fall chronologically into the timeline of _The First David Job_, so while the elements within the actually flashbacks do coincide, I will soon be putting in another chapter, with a flashback between Nate and Sophie that falls chronologically between these two. It's almost done, this one just happened to finish writing itself first. Oops.

Note: To those who reviewed the previous chapter—Arigatougozaimashita! (Thank you very much!) I had hoped for 10 reviews and that's precisely what I got. I'm very grateful. If you liked this chapter and want to see more, do let me know! As I mentioned, another flashback is in the works. You can look for it soon. Till then--Dozo yoroshiku onegaishimasu!

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Flashback 3: "Honest Man"

Eliot came to full consciousness and gave no outward sign of it. It had taken years of careful training, but he had learned to claim the advantage of surprise by assessing his surroundings and his own physical status well before betraying the fact that he was conscious to anyone nearby.

_Where was I?_ was the first question to address. He quickly pulled 'number three safe house' from recent memory and then checked that information against what was currently being provided by his available senses. He was pleased to discover that he was in the same approximate location.

_What woke me?_ came next. The answer to that question was often an unpleasant one. He discarded the throbbing of his ribs and head. They were a factor, but not what he was looking for. The faint sound of an exhaled sigh gave him the answer. He was no longer alone. His eyes snapped open and locked onto Nate Ford's.

"Morning." said the older man with a grim smile.

(Eliot: Flashback)

_Eliot's return to consciousness was violent. He was aware only of pain and the fact that he was prone, vulnerable. His instincts told him to come up fighting. Unfortunately, the hospital bed he was lying in pro__ved__ an uninteresting opponent while the handcuffs tethering his good arm to the side of the bed were an unyielding one. But pain was the opponent that defeated him. All those sudden movements tore at injuries that had __only __just begun to heal. Eliot curled up on his side as he rode out the pain with a gasping hiss of frustration. When he opened his __eye (one was still swollen shut),__ he found himself staring directly into the eyes of...Nathan Ford? _

_The __rookie__ insurance agent sat there with a grim smile on his face and a small bandage on his temple, over what was becoming one of several nasty bruises. "Morning__,__" __h__e said simply. There were no twinges of compassion this time, as he watched Eliot struggle to master the pain. Apparently he had learned his lesson well. _

_The part of Eliot that wasn't writhing in agony smiled at this. He could respect a man who learned quickly. _Still_...his fevered brain was slowly kicking into gear..._why is the insurance cop here?_ Why was he himself here at all? He briefly replayed his most recent memories._

_He had somehow made it to the drop point. His c__lient__ had been there with the money, everything had gone as planned. But then there had been a signal and another guy had appeared__;__ the sort of guy whose appearance evoke__s__ images of the Incredible Hulk. The client had gotten greedy__: w__hy just take the painting when you can also keep the money you paid for it? It was not an uncommon gambit. No honor among thieves, after all. Eliot was generally capable of__ thwarting simple tricks__ like this. Not tonight. One solid hit and he was done. Another, and he was blissfully unconscious. Then why was this __irritating company-man __sitting in his hospital room, instead of standing over his corpse several floors below? It made no kind of sense. _

_One thing was for sure. "...'s not..." his attempt at speech was less than successful. He tried again, "'s not morning." he managed. _

_Ford__'__s eyebrows went up, but he winced as the movement stretched nearby bruises. "Well I wouldn't know__,__" the man said, "Some kid knocked me out earlier." __H__e put a hand gingerly to his temple. _

_Eliot made what would have been a snort, if it had not been interrupted by a fit of coughing._

_"Um," said Ford with a frown, "You should try _not_ to do that." he advised. _

_Eliot gave him a skeptical look __when the fit had subsided __and Ford shrugged. "Doctors were saying something about internal bleeding.__If I'm not mistaken__,__ they even did some very interesting surgery down there." He motioned vaguely towards the hitter's torso. _

_Eliot's one useable eye went immediately to his __middle__ in alarm, as if some__ unthinkable horror might have occurred be__neath the blue dotted pattern of the hospital gown. _

_"Don't worry," said Ford evidently trying and failing to keep the laugh out of his voice. "Everything seems to be generally in order." _

_Eliot scowled back. "So why'm I here?" he asked pointedly. _

_Ford shrugged. "Luck, I guess." He said simply. "When I woke up I followed your trail to see if I could snag the Monet as the deal went down, but all I found was you, your payout, and a very large man about to take care of both." _

_Eliot was still frowning. "And?" he asked. _

_"And _I _took care of _him_," supplied Ford. _

_Eliot's battered face still managed to convey his utter disbelief__._

_Ford seemed affronted. He patted his jacket pocket. "Hey, just because I'd rather not use it doesn't mean I don't know how!" _

_Eliot found the small vein of hurt in the older man's voice rather amusing. "So ya brought me here?" he asked. _

_Again__,__ a non-committal shrug from Ford. "I'm out of leads," he said, "And I was already headed in this direction__,__" he gestured toward the bandage on his temple. _

_"So why stick around?" Eliot rasped, still frowning __stolidly__, "Ya'already got the money, 'n the painting's long gone."_

_"Oh the money's right here." said Ford, standing and pushing open the door of the room's tiny closet. Inside was a nondescript black duffle. "I put some clothes in on top__, __i__n case anyone looks in. Local goodwill stuff, possibly not your style__," __the insurance cop smiled at that._

_Eliot was lying in __astonished__ silence so Ford took the opportunity to continue. "__And if__ anyone asks, I'm your cousin Jim." He walked back over to the bed. "Here's the key to that," he motioned to the handcuffs and dropped a small key into Eliot's right hand. "But I recommend you stay here for several more days." He caught Eliot's reflexive frown and added, "The doctors and nurses here agree with me--strongly." He pulled his __coat__ off of the side of the chair and slid his arms into it as he turned to the door. _

_"Why?" Eliot's question was barely audible. _

_Ford turned back with a questioning look. "Why, what?__"__h__e asked._

_"All of this--" Eliot's gesture was less than effective with one arm tethered and the other bound and cast. "Why're ya doing it?" _

_Ford sat back down and looked him intently, chin in one hand. "I'm an honest man, Spencer__,__" he said__,__ "I don't steal what I'm not sent to recover, and I'd never leave a man to die in the s__treet just because he won a fight I started__." He let those words sink in and then stood up again, "Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to track down the lowlife you handed that painting off to." _

_He again made for the door and again was stopped by a quiet word from Eliot. "Wait," said the stunn__ed__ hitter. _

_Ford turned back with a questioning look._

_"Marco," said Eliot quietly. "The client's name is Marco. His collection is in his mansion up at Clearview. The Monet's gonna be headed for his impressionist gallery in the..." Eliot thought for a moment. "...northeast wing." _

_Ford was nodding appreciatively. _

_"Security's ex-military contractors, so run a tight con, pay a good thief, or hire a small army**, **but _don't _(Eliot was surprised at the conviction in his own voice), _don't_ try ta go it alone." _

_Ford smiled and walked over again, this time taking the key from Eliot's hand, unlocking the cuff and grasping the hand in a firm handshake. "Thank you, Eliot." He said warmly, and released __the__ hand. _

_Eliot felt he should say something but wasn't sure how. His core assumptions about human nature had just been shaken. And there was also the fact that he couldn't remember the last time he had thanked a fellow human being for anything. Words of gratitude were truly alien to him. Still, this man deserved the attempt. "Thanks...Mr. Ford__,__" __h__e muttered tentatively, not making eye contact. _

_"Nate," the man said, "You can call me Nate." _

_Eliot nodded and then managed to meet the insurance man's open gaze. "Thanks Nate__,__" __h__e said, and found he actually meant it. _

_Nate nodded and opened the door, "Here's hoping we never cross paths again__,__" __h__e said with a wave and then was gone. _

_"Yeah," Eliot mused, allowing himself a wry smile. "Here's hoping."_

(Back to the present)

Eliot gave a chuckle at the memory. Funny how glad he was that that wish hadn't come true.

"'s not mornin'," he noted as he sat up with a smile that was quickly interrupted by a wince. Those ribs ached something fierce. He hadn't intended to drift off, but pain was tiring--and so was waiting.

"Concussion must not be too bad if your internal clock is still working," said Nate with false cheer.

"Wouldn' count on that," muttered Eliot, as a wave of nausea swept through him.

Nate correctly identified Eliot's expression and tapped his foot against the small plastic garbage can he'd placed strategically by the bed.

Eliot wore a look of intense concentration for a long moment but then shook his head slightly. "I'm alright." He said at last.

"Good." Nate nodded. "You've got a part in the recovery operation." He said as he stood, beckoning Eliot to follow.

"'K." In honest self-assessment, Eliot found that he was still up for some action. Not a _lot_ of action, perhaps, but the lives of two of his teammates were on the line and he could afford the risk to his personal safety. That was, after all, what he did.

But something he'd thought of earlier was still nagging at him. It took him a moment to find it.

"Nate," he asked, once again as the ex-insurance man was almost out the door.

"Yeah." Nate's reply was curt, preoccupied.

"How did Sophie manage ta blow us?" he asked.

Nate looked genuinely surprised. "What makes you think this was Sophie's fault?"

Eliot shrugged. "Gen'rally when a job goes bad, it's the one who didn't get caught or beat to shit who's to blame. So..."

"That would be _two_ of us, Eliot," Nate reminded him, looking at the hitter as if possibly his concussion was a good deal more serious than he'd previously thought. "Sophie and _me_. What makes you think it wasn't my fault?"

Eliot gave a short laugh, as if the question wasn't even worth considering. "You're an honest man, Nate."

The leader of the band of thieves blinked at Eliot, seeing for perhaps the first time the level of trust, the implicit respect that was at the core of their relationship.

Eliot just rolled his eyes and swung his legs over the side of the rickety bed with a grunt.

Nate offered him a hand up and the hitter took it without a second thought, standing with one hand supporting broken ribs, pausing to quell another wave of nausea.

"Thanks Eliot." said Nate.

Eliot gave him a sideways look, not really understanding what he was being thanked for. He shrugged. "Whatever, man." And he gave Nate an amiable slap on the back as they walked into the little apartment's main room. "Any time."


End file.
